A Proper Family Christmas (14 page)

“Dessert? Oh, I don't know,” Hilary shrugged. “We could open some tins of fruit.”

“Oh, I think we can do better than that. …Would there be eggs?”

“Yes, dozens of them.” What William did decide to stock, he kept in plentiful supply, she'd noticed.

“And flour?”

“We'd better look.”

They went back into the kitchen, where Lesley, still guarding the oven, gave a nervous look over her shoulder.

There was flour next to a tin of mustard powder and some Worcester Sauce. William was obviously partial to Welsh rarebit.

“Better taste it,” said Oliver, bravely sticking a finger in the packet and licking it. “Yes, that's fine. …And I presume he's got butter and sugar.”

“Pancakes?” Hilary was trying to guess what he had in mind.

“Actually, I was thinking profiteroles.”

“Good God!” She and Lesley gaped at each other. “Do you know how to make them?”

“It's not very difficult.”

“You'll need chocolate, won't you, for the sauce?” Lesley began to scan the shelves herself.

“Drinking chocolate, - that'll do at a pinch.” Oliver pulled it out. “…Let's see if he's got a baking tray. The secret is to run it under cold water first, and to have the oven really hot. Can we turn it up a bit, do you think?”

“Oh, of course!” Lesley leapt to obey. “I'll take out these fish fingers.”

Frances and Shelley brought the children downstairs, to find the kitchen a hive of culinary activity. Hilary was at the table, scattering grated cheese over a huge potato pie, with Lesley beside her decanting things from a baking-tray onto a plate. Scratch was engaged in the task of clearing some stray curls of cheese from the floor, while Oliver stirred an exotic-smelling pan on the stove.

“Hello, darling? Did you have a nice bath?”

“No, it was fri…”

“The water wasn't very hot, I'm afraid,” Frances put in quickly. “But we've got some nice warm clothes on now.”

‘We' couldn't be said to include Posy, who had refused to don anything but a skimpy tee-shirt and some flip-flops. “Dressing-gown? That's not something kids wear, is it?” had been Shelley's response when Frances had suggested that this might not be adequate for the rigours of Haseley House. “And she grew out of her slippers years ago!” They might have been talking about rompers.

“Would you like some nice fish fingers for your supper?” Lesley asked her son. “Mummy's got them all ready here, with some mashy potato.”

“I don't know.” Tobias wasn't going to make it as easy as that. He surveyed the kitchen to see what else might be on offer. “What are those round things?”

“They're profiteroles, darling. I'm not sure you like them.”

“Oh, I think he might!” said Hilary, clearly irritated by this pre-closing of doors. “Oliver's made them specially for our pudding,” she explained to Tobias. “They're going to have chocolate sauce on, and cream in the middle, - if we can find it. Why don't you try one?”

“
I'm
going to have lots and lots,” declared Posy. She bounced up to investigate the pan, rubbing herself sinuously against Oliver at the same time.

“You'll go pop then, and we'll have to scrape your insides off the walls!” Shelley told her, making Tobias giggle and Lesley frown.

“Are they going to eat in here?” asked Frances, looking doubtfully at the cluttered table, and wondering if she should start trying to make some space.

“Good lord, no!” said Lesley. “Julia's set the table in the dining-room. You can take these in, if you like.” She handed her Tobias's plate of fish-fingers, peas and mashed potato, a neat meal for one. Presumably some other provision was being made for Posy, - and the rest of them, come to that.

The dining-room looked stunning. Julia was putting the finishing touches to a scene that wouldn't have been out of place illustrating Christmas in one of those ‘perfect home' magazines. Every available surface was decorated with candles, sprigs of berry-laden holly and artistic trails of ivy. At the table, each place was set to perfection, with matching china, linen table-napkins and rows of silver cutlery and bone-handled knives, and an intricate centre-piece had been concocted out of pine cones and ribbons and gold-painted leaves, - Julia must have brought a spray-can with her.

She turned when she heard Frances's gasp of admiration, and pointed gleefully to the Christmas crackers she was laying beside each plate. “Aren't these fabulous? We got them in this gorgeous little shop in Wimbledon, - you'd love it! …Don't worry, there are plenty more for Christmas Day.”

Worry about the supply of crackers wasn't chief among Frances's concerns at the moment. She hovered uncertainly with Tobias's fish-fingers, reluctant to introduce such a prosaic note onto this splendid table.

“What have you got there? Your supper?” Julia enquired kindly.

“No, it's Tobias's. I was just wondering where to put it. Have you set him anywhere particular?”

“Oh, the littlies won't want to eat in here with us old grown-ups!” Julia assured her. “Posy won't want more than a biscuit anyway. She never does.”

“It's just that there isn't room at the kitchen table, and Mrs. Shirburn thought…”

“Oh dear, trust Lesley!” Julia made a comic face at Frances. “Well there isn't room at this one, either, I'm afraid. I've only just managed to fit everybody round. - We're such an awful crowd!”

The news was not received well in the kitchen.

“And whose fault is that? Nobody
asked
her to bring their mob down to Haseley!” said Lesley, perhaps forgetting that two of the Britwell contingent were among her audience. “I really don't see why Tobias should be excluded from his own family dining-table, as if he was some kind of second class citizen!”

“Perhaps we could make a bit of room at this corner,” suggested Frances, aware that Tobias's meal was getting cold.

“No of course we can't!” snapped Lesley. “ - Not with all this cooking stuff around. It's unhygienic.”

Frances saw Hilary and Oliver exchange a glance of wordless amusement, and was a little puzzled. It wasn't that Lesley's remark hadn't been amusingly silly, but she'd been under the impression that the two of them had only just met, and here they were looking as if they'd known each other for years.

“Sorry about the mess. We'll clear some of it away.” Oliver turned off his pan and came over.

“No, no!” Lesley flapped an embarrassed hand. “It's
extremely
good of you to undertake the cooking. We're all most grateful.”

“Oh, I'm only the under-chef,” Oliver protested at once. “It's Hilary you need to thank.”

Lesley didn't waste more than a nod in that direction. She had opened her mouth to resume the debate, when Stephen came in, and hovered near the door looking anxious.

“Could I have a word with you, Lesley, do you think? …In the dining-room.”

“Oh - um - yes.” She followed him out.

“Wonder what's got his pants in a twist?” Shelley expressed the thoughts of all of them. “Come on, Tobe. You going to eat them fish fingers before the cat gets them, or what?”

“Can I have one?” asked Posy. “I'm
starving
!”

“You can have some of this pie as soon as it's hot,” said Hilary, who was putting it in the oven. “But I don't know where you're going to sit. Is there really no room next door?” she asked Frances.

“I'm afraid not. Actually I could only see eight chairs.”

“So where are me and you supposed to eat?” Shelley, like her, had realised this barely covered the remaining adults.

Oliver looked across at Hilary, a questioning gleam in his eye.

“Oh yes!” she exclaimed. “There's a table in there. …Come on, guys. - Bring your plate, Tobias. Oliver and I have got a secret hideaway, but we'll let you use it as a dining-room.”

“Is it the china-cupboard?” asked Tobias, obediently picking up the plate.

“No, - a bit bigger than that, so you can all sit down. It's called the Butler's Pantry.”

“The butler used to keep his underclothes there,” Oliver told them as they followed her out, but only Frances grinned.

Lesley met them in the passage. “Where are you taking Tobias?” she demanded sharply, apparently addressing Oliver.

Frances explained, and waited for her to find some reason to veto it. But to her surprise, having ascertained that only the nannies would be present, Lesley now seemed to like the idea of the children being separated from the other adults. She shooed Oliver away almost rudely when he offered to fetch more chairs, hustled the rest of them into the pantry and shut the door behind her.

Only one of William's irritating visitors now remained in the sitting-room. Stephen, having grown increasingly fidgetty, had eventually given in and left, muttering something about having ‘a quiet word' with Lesley. Tony, not wanting to miss the fun, had made the excuse of seeing whether Julia needed any help. But the most irritating person of all seemed determined to stay and give William unwanted company. He buried his head in his paper, hoping Leo would get bored and go away.

“So, what has the Express got to tell us about the world?”

William hadn't failed to notice the slight ironic emphasis on the name of his newspaper. He gave a non-committal grunt, but unfortunately this was enough conversational interchange for Leo.

“You don't find their political comment a trifle - lacking in impartiality, shall we say?”

William wouldn't say anything on a subject in which he had no interest at all.

“Myself, I prefer to stick to the jolly old
Grauniad
.” This must be some kind of joke, by the way he tittered, but it was lost on William. “You would have been interested to read an article in there the other day about the Net Book Agreement…”

William doubted it. In fact by the time Leo had imparted every detail, he was quite sure he wouldn't. He abandoned his paper, and put the TV on, turning the sound up a little higher than even he usually had it.

“You don't really want to watch
that
rubbish, do you?” William had found one of those rather amusing quizzes. “The News is on Channel 4 now.” Leo had to shout to make himself heard. “If you press the button saying ‘4' on the remote…” He came over, as if to do so. William swept it out of his reach.

“I know how to work my television, thank you very much.”

“Pity you don't know where the volume control is,” Leo muttered, sitting down again.

William proved him wrong, by turning it up a little more.

After a while Leo stood up and began to pace the room. “It's a sad reflection on modern life the way technology has killed conversation.” William didn't respond. “I said, it's a sad reflection on modern life…” he began to repeat more loudly. “Oh, never mind! Perhaps I'll go into the study. One might get a bit of peace in there.”

William waited till he heard the door close, then turned the TV back down to a reasonable level.

Hilary, too, had been surprised that Lesley hadn't put up any opposition to the idea of the children eating in the pantry. She left her settling them down at the table, and went to see how the pie was doing.

Oliver smiled as she came into the kitchen. “I think this is nearly hot actually. Shall we put some in a separate bowl for the nursery contingent? You'd better take it in though. I don't seem to be very popular in there.”

“Oh don't be silly..!” Hilary began to protest. But it was true, Lesley had been acting rather strangely. One minute she'd been all over their distinguished visitor; the next she seemed to be anxious to keep him at more than arm's length. Hilary was sure that she and Stephen had now realised how advantageous a flattering article might be to whoever inherited Haseley House, and had resolved to be charming to Oliver. So why, so soon after her ‘word' with Stephen, had Lesley virtually thrown him out of the pantry?

“…Ah! I get it.”

“What?” Oliver was spooning potato pie into a dish.

“I've suddenly realised why Lesley's so keen to keep you out of there.”

“Well, I'd love to know.”

But before she could get a chance to tell him her theory, Stephen came in with Julia and Tony.

“We must have wine,” Julia was saying, “and I know Daddy'll have nothing decent in. …Oliver, darling, I bet you're an expert, aren't you? Why don't you and Stephen pop down to the pub in the village and see what you can lay your hands on?”

Hilary wasn't surprised to see Stephen's mouth drop in dismay. She was sure he knew nothing about wine. Why send him?

“We're just about to serve dinner,” she warned Julia. “If you and Tony want to zip down to the village…”

“No, we can't go. We're busy doing the table. …You don't mind, do you, Oliver? Stephen knows where the pub is. He'll hold your hand.”

“Um - I'm actually in the middle of helping Hilary,” said Oliver, with an eye on Stephen, who looked as if someone had just despatched him to Antarctica without an overcoat.

“Yes, we can't do without the pastry chef,” said Hilary firmly. “And I really don't think there's time for anyone to start disappearing now.” Why did Julia always make these elaborately inconvenient plans?

“What's all this?” Lesley came in. “I thought we were about to have dinner.”

“Julia wants me to go down to the village and buy wine,” Stephen had found his voice at last. “ - with Oliver.”

“What? No, of course you can't go!” Lesley glared at poor Oliver as if it was his fault. “We don't need wine. There's plenty of fruit juice.”

“It's not quite the same.” Tony was trying to engage Hilary in a conspiratorial glance, but she wasn't having it.